


Interlude: Storm Kissed

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: Greenleaf and Imladris [22]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fourth Age, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:25:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sudden squall hits Rivendell and leads Elrohir and Legolas down memory lane. Twenty-second story in a series chronicling the millennia-spanning relationship of Legolas and Elrohir from the moment they meet beneath the eaves of Greenwood the Great to the years of the War of the Ring and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude: Storm Kissed

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offence is intended or profit made in my use of them._

Imladris, _Úrimë_ F.A. 23  
Legolas closed the balcony doors firmly to shut out the pelting rain. The summer storm that had hit the vale was of the noisy variety with crashing thunder, wailing winds and roaring rain. With a grimace the Wood-elf wished not for the last time that he was under the sheltering canopy of Greenwood. At least for the duration of this cacophonous downpour. 

After spending all of the past winter and the first half of the year in Eryn Lasgalen, he and Elrohir had finally come to Rivendell in late summer. They had decided to pass the rest of the year in the valley before heading back south come next spring. They were not all that eager to return to Gondor. Not just yet.

It was not that life would be onerous for them once they set foot once more in Gondor. A month after Elrohir returned to Minas Tirith following his binding to Legolas, Aragorn had sprung an unexpected surprise on him. With one masterstroke, his king-brother had freed them both of the burden of frequent separations.

Understanding and sympathizing with the Elf-knight’s yearning to be close to his binding-mate, Aragorn had cannily informed his court that Elrohir’s alarming brush with illness just the previous year had been due to prolonged periods of living apart from his kindred. Six months a year of residing amongst mortals for more than two decades, with only the sporadic company of the Ithilien Elves to sustain his spirit, had finally taken its toll on him, the king had declared. And with such believable seriousness, Elrohir had been hard-pressed not to ruin everything with an untimely guffaw. It had taken a return to Imladris and the daily balm of elven companionship to restore him to full health, Aragorn had continued with spurious solemnity. Obviously, these past twenty years of service to Gondor had exacted a steep price; a price he was not willing to pay if it meant risking the well being of his Elf-brother.

To Elrohir’s eternal gratitude, Aragorn had firmly decreed that he was to make his home amongst the Elves of Eryn Gael for the better part of his half-year stays in Gondor. It would be a simple matter to summon him to Minas Tirith should the need arise considering the proximity of Ithilien to the City of the Kings. And as for Eldarion’s continued tutelage under his uncle, the king saw no reason why his son could not make regular visits to the elven colony and take his lessons there. Indeed, he had been remiss in educating his heir in the ways and traditions of his mother’s kindred. Thank Eru his Elf-uncle had seen to that all these years. 

Of course, Faramir, Steward of Gondor, knew the true reason behind the decree; after all, he had actually helped Aragorn draft it. All the others, even the most knowledgeable, knew little of the deeper nuances of elven nature and could not credibly question Aragorn’s guileful declaration. All that is save for Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth who probably suspected something of the truth. But he had always been a staunch defender of Legolas and his people due to his own elven ancestry. Whatever he may have thought of such an unlikely story he kept to himself and lauded his king’s decision as heartily as Faramir did. With two such powerful _and_ learned allies supporting Elessar’s contention, any lingering doubts as to its veracity were swiftly quashed.

It was a most wondrous gift from the king to his foster-brother and new kinsman. The decree and the manner in which it had been broached and decided upon not only allowed Elrohir to reside with Legolas, but also minimized speculation about their closeness. It was Elessar who desired this. His foster-brother would obey him as was his duty. Legolas would always cherish the day his Elf-knight came back to Eryn Gael not merely to visit him but to move in with him for good. 

No, if they were reluctant to return so soon to Gondor, it was not because they would be forced apart but simply because they were enjoying this all too rare respite from the cares their positions as warrior princes entailed. They would never forsake their duties to their lands and people but an occasional idyllic break was not to be scorned either.

Legolas winced a little as one particularly loud thunderclap caused considerable distress to his sensitive ears. A chuckle from behind drew his attention.

“Do not tell me you are still afraid of storms,” Elrohir remarked. The darkling Elf had been reading in bed. He now paused in his perusal of a book on Hobbit lore to regard his mate with amusement.

Legolas grinned and shook his head. “Nay, I have got quite used to them. But my ears still find the noise uncomfortable, that is all.” 

Elrohir smirked. “For a moment I thought I would have to hold you through the night as I did that time. Elladan still thinks it a good jest a grown Elf like you should have been so frightened of a mere storm.”

Legolas gave him a mild glare even as he colored. That had been an embarrassing incident. Thank the Powers the twins had never seen fit to punish him for anything by telling his brothers about it. He would never have lived it down.

As he recalled that other wild and stormy night, another memory came back to him. He glanced at Elrohir who had resumed his reading. A thought suddenly came to him and he frowned suspiciously. He walked to the bed and sat down beside the other Elf.

“Elrohir?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you fetch Elladan that night?”

Elrohir looked up in surprise. “To help me comfort you, of course,” he answered. “Never had I seen such a scared Elf as you were that eve.”

Legolas snorted disbelievingly. “You could have comforted me by yourself. Indeed, I remember you were doing very well. _At first._ ” He grinned when the warrior stiffened and glanced at him warily. “What happened, Aduial? Why did you suddenly insist that Elladan join us?”

Elrohir tried to nonchalantly shrug off his sudden unease though his slightly burning cheeks betrayed him. “I told you, I thought you would feel more secure if we were both there for you.”

“But I was already secure,” Legolas pointed out. “How much more secure could I have got?” He suddenly slipped under the covers, plucked the book out of the startled Elf-knight’s hands and slid up against him. “As I recall, you only thought of getting your brother when I did _this_.”

With that, he draped himself over Elrohir in virtually the same manner he had done all those centuries ago. Chest-to-chest, lean hips and groins pressed together, long legs entangled under the blanket. He half-buried his face in the crook of the warrior’s neck.

Elrohir drew in his breath to calm his suddenly racing heart. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, trying to sound indignant and only managing to sound quite perturbed.

A husky chuckle answered his query making it more difficult for him to relax. “I am wondering what spurred you into summoning Elladan that night.”

After a while, Elrohir sighed resignedly. “If you must know, I was sorely tempted to bed you,” he muttered grudgingly.

Legolas lifted his head, his eyes alight with laughter. “Really? Well, what stopped you?” he grinned. “You were never known for restraint, _roch greg_.”—wild stallion.

The warrior glared at him. “Need you ask? You were my best friend! You trusted me. How could you think that I would have done such a thing to you?” 

Legolas smirked. “How very noble you were then,” he commented. “You were less patient when you cornered me in Ithilien.”

Elrohir colored up once more. “I was tired of waiting,” he reminded his prince.

With a snicker, Legolas buried his face once more in Elrohir’s neck and nuzzled the pale column, pausing here and then to nip at smooth, enticingly scented skin.

“Legolas?” Elrohir half rasped as his body defiantly took on a life of its own, particularly one spot in the vicinity of his nether regions. “What do you think you’re doing _now_?” 

“I would just like to know what you would have done if Elladan had not joined us,” came the muffled reply.

Elrohir went still though his blood continued to heat up. He turned his head and looked warningly at the fair archer. “Be careful of what you wish for,” he murmured. “You just might get it.”

“Is that a threat?” Legolas challenged tauntingly, lifting his slightly tousled head.

Elrohir looked up at him, eyes darkening with carnal intent. His hand suddenly shot out to grasp the prince at the nape and pull his head down so that their mouths collided in a demanding kiss.

Legolas gasped against Elrohir’s lips. With an effort, he pulled away, his eyes dancing mischievously. “I think you have answered my question,” he teased. “You can return to your book now.”

“I think not,” Elrohir growled and abruptly rolled them both over so that he was now on top. “You wanted to know what I would have done and, by Elbereth, I will show you!”

He silenced the golden Elf with another kiss, this one considerably less gentle and infinitely more passionate. Startled by the sudden change in circumstances, Legolas jerked his mouth away and pushed at the dark-haired Elf. 

“You have already shown me! Now get off me!”

A wicked grin creased Elrohir’s sinuous lips to match the wicked gleam in his dusky eyes. “I have not shown you anything yet,” he drawled. 

He dug his fingers into Legolas’s sides. The prince found himself helplessly laughing under the unexpected onslaught. He vainly tried to wriggle away.

“S-stop! Elrohir, stop it! All r-right, you win!” 

Elrohir unhurriedly shifted from his playful assault upon his prince to divesting him of his clothes instead. Hands roamed with lustful intent and lips wrought more than just telling marks on ivory skin. Laughter evolved into gasps, gasps turned into shuddery breaths, which finally culminated in pregnant silences punctuated increasingly by sounds not fit for Elflings’ ears or, for that matter, the ears of any creature below the age of majority.

It so happened that Elladan and Nimeithel were passing the pair’s door at the moment. The older twin, nearer to the door than his wife, paused when he heard the sounds coming from inside of his brother’s room. The memory of that other stormy evening of long ago recalled itself to him and he suddenly snickered. Well, this night was certainly going to end in a different manner!

“Why do you laugh?” his wife asked, puzzled.

“I just remembered a night like this many years ago,” he replied. “ _My_ brother had a most _uplifting_ experience thanks to _your_ brother.” 

“Oh? Pray tell, what happened that time?”

She gasped when her husband swooped down and gave her a resounding and patently unchaste kiss. She blushed deeply when he drew away, slate blue eyes covetous.

“I— what brought that on?” Nimeithel shakily asked. When Elladan’s eyes only darkened further, her own widened in comprehension and she said, “What happened to _them_ then that has so quickly turned _your_ mood now?”

He grinned down at her. "'Tis an interesting tale,” he cooed, eyes gleaming as wickedly as his twin’s had done just minutes earlier. “I think ‘tis best told in a nice warm bed. Or mayhap I should show you as well!” 

On that impish note, he scooped his squealing wife into his arms and swiftly bore her away to the privacy of their own bedchamber.

The following morning dawned dark and dank, the storm still clinging by its figurative fingertips. With an exasperated sigh, the Last Homely House’s efficient housekeeper, Iörwen, had her staff clear the main dining table in the hall of its untouched contents. 

Ai, what did she expect of the brethren? After three thousand years she should not be surprised. Certain appetites would always take precedence with those two. Particularly now when both had such delectable victuals to feast on! 

*********************************  
Glossary:  
Úrimë - Quenya for August

_End of Part XXII._

**Author's Note:**

> _Part XXIII: Bereth: To Have and To Hold – Legolas and Elrohir’s love is beset from within by misunderstandings and from without by an evil from an age long past._


End file.
